The Cold in the Night
by ttaM livE
Summary: At the end of The X in the File, Brennan & Booth admit to truths long concealed.


Before he'd met her, before he'd _detained_ her at the airport, before she'd blackmailed him, he had not been a happy man. Efficient, penitent, remote – these words showed up on the annual psych review all special agents had to undergo. But now, as surely as he chipped away at her walls with pigs and smurfs and daffodils and starlight, she broke down his with her presence.

Her old professor, an internet date (_make that Dick123_), an undersea welder and a botanist. He was unsurprised at the list, because the only thing he could accuse them of was having good taste. Well, that and being selfish, perverted, stupid, and fans of Coldplay. Though those were only if he was being honest with himself, which, these days at least was a painful proposition. If he allowed his emotions free reign, there were plenty of other things he would be willing to charge them with. _Despoilers_ came to mind (though he realized she would instantly label him _prudish_ if he voiced that particular word in connection to her dates).

The worst of them all was Sully. He _knew_ Sully was a good guy. Talented, dreamer, charming – these words described his friend quite well. And her eyes were so alive when she was with him. The one word that didn't describe Sully, that made him completely unfit for the wonder that was Doctor Temperance Brennan, was the one word that guaranteed he would never stand in her way, _loyalty_. He would tell her that sailing could be fun, that she deserved to be happy. He even came to see her off, to play the part of the good partner, the good friend to the very end.

An exploding fridge that led to a hook in an abandoned building – he was there. Taking the pain for her, and getting her out. Threatening a crime lord and threatening an ex-FBI agent turned crime author – he was there. Breaking the rules for her, making her safe. Stepping in front of a bullet for her in one flowing movement – he was there. Walking into danger with her, in the Gormagon Vault or the "matter transmitter" – he was there too. Even when he couldn't protect here, either because it was a false alarm or the doors were too thick, he would do his best. He would trade his life for hers in a heartbeat, and he showed that to her time and time again. And she knew, how could anything else be true with her _stratospheric _intellect? Sitting beside a hospital bed, she made an excuse to watch television – something she never did. Waiting for rescue in a buried car, knowing he would come – having _faith_. Singing for him, killing for him, stemming the blood flow for him – and watching her heart break. Laughing at his closed eyes, to cover how she felt so protected – and how much she liked that. Making fun of his puritanical values – because she wished he had never made that stupid, noble line.

Eating breakfast in England, after they both had turned down a night in someone's arms in favor of being alone yet together. Showing up with take-out and spending the nights at each other's homes, because the pain of proximity was better than the pain of distance. Constant bickering that to the untrained ear might sound like fighting, but to those who could listen, was really saying, "I want to hear your voice." Moments of tenderness and love, covered up by clever phrases like "partners" or "guy hugs" or "bargains". But these couldn't fool those who watched closely. Because partners didn't touch each other, guy-hugs don't really exist, and bargained kisses don't swap gum.

Watching the man she knew she loved going into surgery. Trying to tell the woman who meant everything he wanted a baby _with_ her; and that even though he may die, he wanted her to be happy. Knowing she wanted him in her life forever, knowing he was a good father and would never leave a child behind, in her own way, this was more of a want for commitment – on both their sides – than marriage ever could be. Willing to break the line, to be selfish enough for once to ask her to stay, because he couldn't be with those doctor's alone. Waking up after the best dream in the world or looking up after deleting the only story she would admit he was in – trying to accept the truth that she wasn't his wife and he wasn't her husband.

Lying together on the hood of a car. Watching an endless expanse of sky. At the coldest part of the night, when the stars seemed arrows of freezing light – though Brennan would be quick to point out that light can't freeze. Regardless, in that cold moment, when fears were at long last frozen stiff, the truth came out: Take everything ever done or said, and remove every foolish quantifier. Get rid of the 'guy' and the 'atta girls' and the 'partners'. Get rid of the anthropological imperatives and the 'I don't understands'. Forget, so far away from rules and cities and roads, about scarred, scared souls fearing rejection one more time. In the desert, in the cold, when simple water freezes to hard crystal, look deep within and know your truth. Those who aren't them cannot begin to understand what the oldest of words must mean for these two. We watchers can only be privileged enough to hear their quiet breaths: "Bones, I've tried not loving you, and I can't" "Booth, I've loved you for a while now, but you weren't ready".

_Together forever  
Together at last  
Freezing starlight  
On frosting glass_


End file.
